


Brooklyn in the summer

by ravensarefree



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Meet-Cute, Multi, SO, and self-indulgent, but i like it, cap!steve - Freeform, this is crappy, witch!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensarefree/pseuds/ravensarefree
Summary: If you looked, really looked for the shop, maybe you’d be able to find it.It was tucked away in a corner, a set of stairs leading down to it. The shop did no advertising, no marketing, fancy blackboards with elaborate chalk scribbles or fliers or daily special announcements.It was simple.If you needed to go in, you went in.





	Brooklyn in the summer

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Brooklyn in the Summer" by Aloe Blacc, which I listened to on repeat while writing this and subsequently annoyed everyone in my house.

Here’s the link to the art at the end of this fic, by that amazing @sunrow on tumblr: [here is a thing ](http://sunrow.tumblr.com/image/174258341950)

If you looked, really looked for the shop, maybe you’d be able to find it.  


It was tucked away in a corner, a set of stairs leading down to it. The shop did no advertising, no marketing, fancy blackboards with elaborate chalk scribbles or fliers or daily special announcements.

 

It was simple.

 

If you needed to go in, you went in.

******

Walking around NYC at night is much safer when you’re Captain America.

People don’t seem to recognize him without the suit and shield, but they still clear a path. He’d like to think that it’s because he’s so friendly looking, like a golden retriever.

He knows better.

He still takes back alleys, though. Still uses all the shortcuts he learned as a kid. Avoiding the bullies, with their torn-up smiles and handfuls of dirt. Avoiding the adults, with their pitying eyes and charity. At least in an alleyway, no one but the rats saw if you cried.

They could change everything he knew about this city, but the streets would remain the same until long after he was gone.

He hoped, at least.

 

Steve stopped walking, ending up in front of a tiny store with neon lights in the windows and a thick velvet curtain instead of a door. “PALM READINGS HERE $10”, one of the signs says. The other one is less obvious, simply the words “Satan’s Muse” under a winking eye. Steve grabbed a handful of the curtain, pushed it aside, and stepped inside.

Inside, the shop was different than he’d expected. There was no Eastern European fortune teller in scarves, no shoddy amulets and fake glass skulls holding candy. Well, there was a skull; but considering it was painted a glittery fuchsia and was being used as a flower pot, Steve decided to let it slide.

“Do you need help?”, a voice asked. A man appeared from behind what looked like another curtain.

Steve froze.

_Oh._

_He’s got tattoos._ A tiny voice supplied.

A second later:

_Oh._

_He’s gorgeous._

Long brown hair, muscles, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. He was ticking all of Steve’s boxes.

_Say something, you dumbass! He asked you a question._

“Um, no? Maybe? I… I just kinda ended up in here. It’s late, and I can’t sleep, and I kinda have nowhere else to go?”

_Great. Desperate much? You survived the worst goddamn war the world’s ever seen, suck it up and get over yourself._

“Can’t sleep? Let me get you something for that.”

Steve blushed. “Oh, I, um, I didn’t bring my wallet, I really couldn’t-”

The man cut him off with a smile. “It’s on the house.”

He retreated back towards the curtain while Steve fidgeted awkwardly, then stopped.

“By the way,” he tossed over his shoulder, “Nice to meet you. I’m Bucky.”

 

By the time Bucky returns, Steve has examined 2 shelves of crystals, the nutritional value of turmeric, and that obscenely bright skull.

Bucky came back holding a mug of something steaming in one hand and an umbrella in the other. He set both down on the glass counter that runs along the middle of the store.

_Be funny, make him laugh, you can do this._

“So,” Bucky looks up from where he’s been rummaging underneath the glass, "I understand the mug, but why an umbrella? I was just out there, and it’s drier than the desert."

Bucky looks up with a smirk, clutching a spoon and an old jar of what looks like honey. “You sure about that?”

A crack of thunder makes Steve jump, and Bucky lets out a snort.

“Here’s your cup, guaranteed to keep any and all nightmares away.”

Steve grabs the cup, then chuckles.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just… I never told you I had nightmares.”

Bucky shrugs. “Ah, I know the look. Besides, you’re the kinda guy who seems like you’d go off to war in a heartbeat.”

“Wait, what?” The cup of tea suddenly seems awfully interesting.

“I don’t know how to describe it. Call it an aura, call it a premonition, call it spooky witch powers. I dunno. You just have a look, that’s all.”

Steve shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay? I go off on some weird spiel about a look and all I get is _okay_?”

Steve shrugs again. “Guess it takes more than that to rattle me.”

“Huh. Maybe so.”

Bucky props his elbows up on the table and stares at Steve. “Now, for the real million dollar question,”

“Yes?”

“Are you gonna go out in this big, bad, storm, or are you gonna come with me into the back room so I can get to know you a little better?”

This time, Bucky doesn’t have a smirk on his face. It’s full on lascivious smile, head cocked, waiting for him to respond. But-

“I can’t. I’ve got to - I just have to go. I’m sorry.”

Bucky smiles at him again, but this time, it’s almost apologetic.

“Nah, don’t apologize. Would you object to having my number?”

Steve shakes his head, and Bucky hands him a business card with the words JAMES BARNES written on it in navy ink. As Steve heads towards the door, he hears something behind him.

“Hey!” Bucky almost shouts as Steve turns.

“Catch,” he says, tossing the umbrella, then retreating into the back.

Squaring his shoulders, Steve braces the storm.

**********

“So,” Natasha brandished a spoon around before digging it back into the carton of ice cream, “Captain America stopped by your shop, drank some of your tea, got your number, and left?”

“Yes.” Bucky groaned before covering his head with his hands.

“I don’t see a problem”

“The problem is that it’s been three days and he hasn’t called.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“So? So! I gave my number to a straight guy - a straight guy who is Captain freakin’ America - and he hasn’t called for three days!”

“Buck. Slow down. I really don’t see a problem. You gave your number to a guy, and maybe he’s busy. Maybe he’s straight. Maybe he’s off saving the world every evening. Why are you so worked up? This isn’t like you.”

Bucky rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I know, I just… I wanted him to like me.”

“Aww, you poor little thing,” Nat shook her head dejectedly, a smile playing on her face. “Do you want some ice cream?”

“Yeah, I kinda do- Wait. Nat, is that my ice cream?” She’s off the couch before he finishes, dangling the carton in front of his face before snatching it away.

“You want it, come and get it.” She’s already flipping away.

“NOT FUCKING FAIR!” Bucky yells as he launches himself after her.

  
******

 

Wipe the blood off the edges of the shield. Shower. Shave. Redress. Then a meeting. Steve’s got his after-mission routine down pat. He needs something to keep him sane, something to propel through the long-ass meetings SHIELD insists on having. He’s railed against these meetings time and time again, but protocol wins against even Captain America.

 

Steve’s tiny Brooklyn apartment and his tinier bathroom are barely big enough for him to turn around in, but he manages, In fact, he likes the small space. Too much openness, too many variables, and his stomach starts churning. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s _something_ out there, despite everything rational in him telling him that he’s being paranoid.

Shake it off, and keep moving. He pulls on an old, broken in pair of hiking boots and a denim jacket, grabs his keys and starts making his way to SHIELD. On an impulse, he takes a detour by that witchy store he found a couple days ago. He can feel James’s - Bucky’s business card burning a hole in his pocket. It’s not like he doesn’t want to call the guy, okay? It’s clearly not because he doesn’t find him attractive. It’s just… It’s harder when people know you to come out. It would have been impossible in the thirties, but hell, it’s getting worse now. Steve keeps a tab on openly queer celebrities; Hayley Kiyoko, Neil Patrick Harris, Laverne Cox, Anderson Cooper. It’s more of a reassurance than anything, a sort of _they’re still here and they survived and I might too_. Basically, he hasn’t called Bucky back because he’s scared.

 

He reaches the store, and is a little disappointed to see it closed. Oh well. Steve should have known better anyway. Stores that have Satan in their front window usually aren’t open at 11 am on a Tuesday.

Steve stops walking for a second, and pulls out his phone. He adds Bucky to his - admittedly tiny - list of contacts and smiles.

******

“Okay, so I’ll need a pouch, lavender, thyme, and a taglock of some sort, something to represent him.” Bucky read off his laptop. He was on the floor of his room, all his herbs and crystals spread around him.

Clint snorted. “You are really into this guy, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up.” Bucky grumbled. “And don’t you have an entire bookshelf dedicated to Captain America? Is there nothing there I could use?”

Clint gaped. “Bucky! I am aghast that you’d even ask. You know that collection is my life’s work-”

“And your spank bank material. I really don’t need another in depth explanation of that.”

“Clint, shut up. And Bucky, stop whining, I nicked a keychain when he wasn’t looking.” Natasha said from the doorway.

“What took you so long?” Bucky asked, as she tossed the keychain to him in a fluid motion.

“Some customer came in last-minute, wanting a massive sea turtle. I had to tell her four times that I wasn’t a licensed tattoo artist before she would listen.”

“Aw, babe, you should have just gone to town on her. She sounds like someone who deserves your stick figure on her body.” Clint smirked and slouched down farther on Bucky’s bed.

“Clint, didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Nat asked

“Why don’t you come over here and make me? My lap’s getting awful lonely without someone to sit on it.” Clint made the saddest puppy-dog eyes Bucky’s ever seen at Nat. Hell, when faced with a pouty Clint, Bucky’s pretty sure that he’d make out with the guy. Not that that’s happened, of course.

Nat saunters up to Clint, and casually straddles him. “Is someone feeling lonely?”

“Are we going to make out or not? There seems to be a weird amount of talking happening.” Clint says.

Nat plants a kiss on his lips, and Bucky shakes his head. God, as much as he loves having the two of them as roommates, sometimes the incessant sappiness can be a little much. He’s not going to say anything, though. Bucky’s insanely happy that the two of them managed to find each other, especially after knowing their childhoods.  

Mumbling to himself, he starts reading the spell. “I need to put the herbs into a pouch, whisper his name into the keychain, and put that into the pouch too. Smell it, say an incantation, and sleep with it under my pillow. I think I got it.”

“Mm, Barnes,” Clint tears his mouth away from Nat’s and roots around on the bed, yelping as she starts to suck on his neck. He finds what he’s looking for and tosses it to Bucky. “Your phone’s ringing.”

Turning his back on the couple, Bucky picks up the call.

“Hey, Buck, it’s Steve.”

“Steve?” _Steve!_ Steve called him!

“Steve from the other night,” Clint lets out a _very_ loud moan and Bucky can picture Steve blushing. “Um, is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all. My idiot roommates are just getting it on - on my bed, by the way - and they don’t have any manners at all. So, what can I do for you?”

“Umm, I,” Goddamnit, Bucky can almost hear him blushing. “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner at my place? Tonight?”

Bucky gapes.

“I know I left you hanging, but I really like you, and I hope I can make it up to you?”

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you flirting? I didn’t know Popsicles could.”

Steve chokes back a laugh. “Well, if you’re going to be like that-”

“Think you could rid of me that easy?”

This time Steve really does laugh. “So, my apartment, 8?”

“Sounds good. Should I bring a gift?”  
“Nah, just yourself. I’ll text you the address.”

Bucky hangs up the phone grinning from ear to ear. “Clint?”

“Yeah?” Clint said, having extricated himself from Natasha’s grasp somehow, and rapidly pulling his pants back on (Wait, what?).

“Do you want a fuck ton of lavender? I somehow don’t think I need this spell anymore.”

******

_To: Nat_

So.

Help?

I invited the guy to my house.

_From: Nat_

The guy?

Which one?

_To Nat:_

Please. As if I’ve got hordes of guys just begging to get with me. You know who I’m talking about.

_From Nat:_

You have groupies.

..

Ok fine. I know the guy.

You asked him out?

_To Nat:_

Yeah.

Did I screw it up? I think I screwed it up.

_From Nat:_

No, you didn’t screw this up.

But..

If you act like the guy is only going on a date because he pities you, you’ll never get anywhere.

If you come back from this date without even the promise of getting laid, I am smacking your ass into next Tuesday.

 _To Nat_ :

Nat, it’s Sunday. That’s not threatening.

_From Nat:_

(￣ｰ￣)

_To Nat:_

Fine.

_From Nat:_

Wear those black skinny jeans I got you.

They make your ass look good and are easy to get off.

Win-win.

_To Nat:_

You can’t see it, but I’m flipping you off.

******

Bucky had changed his outfit six times.

The evidence was strewn across his bedroom. At some point, Clint had wandered into judge him acting like a lovestruck teenager going on a first date. Which he totally wasn’t.

(That’s basically what he was, but he had a little bit of pride left.)

“Okay, I’ve seen enough. It’s getting weird for me, and that’s saying a lot. I once shared a room with a guy who-”

“Clint.” Bucky made a fist. “Not the time. I’ll listen to all the crazy roommate stories you want, but I’m going to need to be fully dressed for that.”

“The grey jeans with a rip in the knee, the red t-shirt, and the long jacket with all the patches on it. Take my Jordan 6s. The Black Cats, not that you’d know which ones those are.”

“Mgbjahnmgr,” Clint spluttered as Bucky gave him a hug. “Is this a thing now? Are we hugging? Are we going to share a bed next?”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but sharing a bed with you would mean sharing a bed with Tasha, and as much as I love you two, I don’t want to see you get it on.”

“Eh. Fair, although we are a very pretty couple.”

“I agree, but my answer’s still no.”

Clint pouted.

“Also, could you show me which one’s are your Jordans?”

Clint looked at him in shock. “Dude. You promised you’d learn something. Anything. Anything at all. You don’t know what a pair of Jordan 6s look like?”

Bucky grimaced. “To be fair, you said I could borrow them, and I quote, “When I was being dead and buried”, so I didn’t really ever think it would, you know, happen.”

“Okay, that was an example. The rule is “Extenuating Circumstances Only”. If you’re going on a date with Captain America, you need to look like you want to get laid, and because you won’t go shirtless, these shoes are the next best thing.”

******

Steve’s place was smaller than you’d expect. It occupied the second floor of a very Brooklyn brownstone, and on the way up the single flight of stairs, Bucky felt like turning back a half-dozen times. He was on his way out when the apartment opens and Steve steps out, wearing a hopeful, relieved, smile.

“Bucky,” Steve said, still wearing that stupid, dopey smile, and Bucky melts a little bit. “You made it.”

Bucky puts on a smirk he’s too nervous to really mean. “I couldn’t leave my best guy hanging, could I?”

Steve smirks back, and it changes him from the All-American Beefcake into something a little closer to the scrappy kid from Brooklyn.

“I’m your best guy now? How many guys you say that to?”

Bucky shrugged and relaxed a little more. “Right now? Just the one.”

Oh, boy.

Steve’s _blushing_.

Steven Grant Rogers just turned pink and sheepish at the statement, and Bucky is totally gone.

“Do you wanna come in?”  
******

“So, living room/dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and the bedroom on your left.” Steve led him in, and pointed out all of his rooms in quick succession.

“It’s kinda…”

Steve smiles that sheepish smile Bucky’s seen plastered across a million televisions.

“Small? Yeah, I know, but real estate in Brooklyn is not as cheap as it used to be. And those massive apartments that everyone expects me to live in just make me uncomfortable.”

He can see Bucky making a quizzical face at that, can see him gearing up to ask why.

“Why though? You hang out with Tony Stark and you’re scared of a NYC celebrity loft?”

Steve leads them both over the his overstuffed, picked-up-from-a-yard-sale, floral couch and very pointedly didn’t look at Bucky.

“I’m-whatever the opposite of claustrophobia is. Too many open spaces, too many dark corners, they make me nervous.”

 _Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird_.

“I should’ve expected that, honestly.”

Steve turned. “What?”

“I mean, they showed us pictures of your old apartment in school, and I don’t think _I_ would have fit in there, so it makes sense.”

Oh. “Thank you, for not thinking that’s super weird. It, it means a lot to me.”

He turned to look at Bucky, who had a shocked look on his face.

“Okay, yeah no problem, but, Stevie, why were you so worried? It was a harmless question and a harmless quip?”

God, why’d he have to look so earnest? It made Steve want to trust him.

“My old boyfriend, he didn’t like it. He didn’t want me to talk about the Avengers thing, or my past at all.”

Bucky still looked earnest, but now a little confusion was creeping in.

“I’m… I’m sorry. The Avengers, the Cap thing, that’s a part of you. Sounds like this creep didn’t deserve you in the first place.”

Steve got off the couch, needing to move without making it obvious and wanders into the tiny kitchen. “Maybe. Anyway, I’m basically retired at this point. They only bring me on to deal with press fuck-ups or tactical things. Do you want something to drink? Water, I’ve got lemonade, I can put on coffee…”

A chuckle sounds from the living room. “Steve, is this your way of saying you don’t want to talk about this anymore? I’ll drop it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Steve nods, then catches himself, remembering that Bucky can’t see him. “Yeah, that’d be cool. What about you?”

Bucky gets up and stands in the little dining room connected to the kitchen. He leans against the table before saying “What about me?”

“Anything.”

Bucky takes a step closer. “Do you wanna know about the witchcraft thing?”

Steve falters a little before catching himself. He takes the moment to grab some plates. “Do you mind?”

“Only if you’re gonna be gross about it. I you don’t let me have my beliefs, then-”

Steve shakes his head. “I wouldn’t. It’d be like you saying I was crazy because I was Catholic.”

Bucky gives a little laugh. “Thanks, but witchcraft’s not really a religion. It’s more of a practice. It’s based on belief in the properties of different things - crystals, herbs, food, all kinds of things - to alter the world around you. I found it when I was in a pretty bad place, and it’s helped me a lot.”

Steve found a set of matching plates and started to plate the pasta he’d made before Bucky had arrived. “What about the store?”

“Charmed the building owner so she’d sell it for less, and found an old bank account that had been collecting interest for a while. That paid for most of it, and Nat covered the rest. We get most of our business online, shipping things out, but sometimes a hipster or a lost soul-” He pauses for a second and smiles a full-wattage smile at Steve “-like yourself will wander in. I won’t do the culturally appropriated stuff, hoodoo, chakras, things like that, but I’m pretty much fair game for any other kind of spell.”

Steve puts a fork on each plate before handing one to Bucky. “So, you get commissioned for these spells? We can eat over at the dining room table.”

Bucky nodded, walking over to the dining room. “Yeah, I have a website and a Tumblr where people reach out. I’m an eclectic witch mostly, but I dabble in green and kitchen witchery.”

Steve pulled out Bucky’s chair before settling into his own. “So, what exactly are those things?”

“Eclectic is kind of picking and choosing the parts of witchcraft you want to practice, from different kinds of witchcraft. Green witchery is working with plants, and kitchen witchcraft is using cooking, herbs, and spices in your craft.”

Steve nodded before taking a bite, and Bucky followed. “Damn, this is good. What is it?”

Steve chuckled before replying “It’s my Aunt Silvia’s recipe.”

“Your Aunt Silvia? She wasn’t in the Smithsonian exhibit.”

Steve laughed, a louder, more uninhibited sound then the chuckles that he’d allow to escape. “No, she was an Italian lady that lived down the hall. Took care of me when I was young and my mom had to work, and checked in on me every time I got sick. She gave me the recipe one day, when I was recovering from a really bad bout of asthma, stood over my shoulder and made sure I did everything right. It’s become, somehow, both my comfort food and my first date food. “

Bucky reached over the table and covered Steve’s hand with his own. “That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, she was sweet.” Steve looks up at Bucky’s face, studying it for a couple seconds before dropping his eyes back to his own plate.  

“Steve, what is it?”

“Are you sure that doesn’t make you mad?”

Bucky’s voice went stern. “Stevie, look at me. _Look at me_. I have known you for what, three days? And I can see already that you did not deserve that fucker. You are sweet, and modest, and loyal, and smart, and kind. So goddamn kind. I don’t know the full story, but he seems like he did a lot worse to you than what I’ve already heard. To answer you, no, I’m not even the slightest bit angry. I like hearing you talk about your past. I like it because it makes you happy. So, to sum up with a Rosa Diaz quote, “I’ve only known you for a day and a half. But if anything happened, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

Steve burst out laughing. Harder and louder than anything Bucky had heard from him, basically giggling.

“What?” Bucky asked. “What are you laughing at?”

“Buck,” Steve managed to choke out between giggles, “Who else is in this room?”

“Wha- oh, no. Stevie, you better not think- after I made that long-ass speech? I go all emotional and threaten to kill you? At least, now you know how smooth I am around cute guys.”

******

The night passed quickly. If you’d seen them together then, seen them talking and laughing together, seen them curl up on a couch to watch Netflix, seen them fight over blankets and appropriate more of each other’s space than necessary, you would have thought they’d been dating for years. Their movements seemed worn into familiarity, broken in by a comfortable repetition. It was simple. They at home with each other. They were at peace.

******

“So,” Bucky said, shrugging on his coat, “I had a really good time tonight.”

“Me too.” Steve smiled fondly at him. “So, you gonna let me kiss you goodbye?”

Bucky put a hand to his chest pretending to be scandalized. “Mr. Rogers! You dare presume my honor is as easy to take as that! No,” he said, slipping back into his usual lazy drawl, “I’ve got to keep at least one thing secret to leave you wanting more.”

Steve took a step into Bucky’s space. The narrow dimensions of the mud room and the fact that they were both six feet tall meant that they were close. Very close. So close, in fact, that Bucky can smell whatever manly-smelling soap Steve must have used in the shower. Steve brings his hand up, almost to Bucky’s face.

God.

 _Please be a kiss, please be a kiss_.

“Steve.” Bucky murmurs, taking another step towards him, so close to just grabbing his shirt and making out with him for days.

And then he trips.

“Goddamnit! What the fuck was that?” Bucky’s on the floor, clutching his (probably scraped) knee. He looks around a little bit more before seeing a closed umbrella behind him. “Stevie,” he picks up the umbrella and brandishes it around, “What the fuck is this?”

Steve’s mouth has an odd twist to it; It’s something Bucky doesn’t recognize.

“I’m pretty sure that’s an umbrella, Buck.” His voice is a strange, choked-off sound, and he’s avoiding Bucky’s eyes. He doesn’t know what’s going on.

All of a sudden, he gets it.

“Steve.” He’s still on the floor, knees drawn up, holding that goddamn umbrella in one hand. He spreads his arms wide and says with as much dignity as he can muster, “You can laugh now.”

It’s like setting off a firecracker. Steve’s laugh is sharp and instantaneous, and he sinks down onto the floor next to Bucky as his laugh turns into a giggle. “Oh my god,” he manages to wheeze out, “You should have seen your face.”

Bucky very threateningly sticks his tongue out.

Steve inches closer to him again, but the moment’s disturbed by the pop masterpiece that is _I Don’t Want It At All_ by Kim Petras. Steve raises an eyebrow.

“It’s my ringtone,” Bucky explains as he fishes around in his pockets. The other eyebrow climbs to meet the first. “What? She’s good.”

He finally finds his phone and realizes that Natasha’s sent him at least twenty texts, all of them some variation on “I’m selling your fancy ass crystal shit if you don’t fucking text me back”.

“It’s Natasha,” Bucky tells Steve. “I told her I wouldn’t stay the night, and she’ll kill me if I don’t come back.”

“This wouldn’t happen to be Natasha Romanoff, would it?”

Bucky frowns. “Yeah, actually, it would be. How do you know her?”

“She used to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. We became friends. She retired a few years ago, as far as I can remember. Is she still short, redheaded, and terrifying?”

Bucky laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like her. if you do know her, you’ll know why I don’t want to get on her bad side.” He gets up, dusting imaginary dust particles off his shoulders to keep his hands busy.

“Can I see you again?”

Steve’s voice stops him, and he looks up. “Yeah,” he squeaks, before clearing his throat and getting his voice back under control, “Yeah. That’d be great. I’m free - well - whenever, really. One of the perks of being your own boss.”

Steve chuckles.“I’ll call you, then?”

“Anytime.”

******

He’s going through the rote motions of cleaning up after dinner. Washing the pot, rinsing off utensils, wiping down the counter, but his mind is still with Bucky. He replays all of the little moments, all the sarcasm and shared jokes, and the moments when one or both of them got vulnerable.

He’d like to see him again, that much is certain. Steve’s always played hard-to-get, always hidden his heart away, but with Bucky, he doesn’t want to. He wants to show Bucky all of the good parts, all of the bad parts, all of the parts that don’t quite fit in either.

Maybe he’s compensating. As a kid, Steve wasn’t allowed to like boys, and though girls were great, he felt like there was something missing. He wouldn’t let himself look at the older boys, the ones who wore confidence like a second skin, the ones who yelled good-natured things back when he’d been a hundred pounds soaking wet. Maybe it was just the fact that Bucky was attractive, and smart, and _male_ , and Steve was unleashing a century of pining onto him.

Nope. Stop psychoanalyzing yourself. That’s what Sam is for, and he’ll be home tomorrow. Go through the motions, Steve. Stick to routine. You know how to get ready for bed. Come one.

He takes a quick shower, using sandalwood soap Wanda had given him for his birthday. Moisturizer comes next, the sweet jasmine one a Lush employee had persuaded him into getting. He brushes his hair, washes his face, and puts on the comfiest, warmest, coziest, pajamas he can find. Steve dims the light, and slips into his queen bed, comfortable between the blankets, New York air blowing in through an open window somewhere. It still smells like the New York Steve remembers, cigarette smoke and factory smoke mingling, a hint of fried food from the numerous vendors and food trucks lining every street, and a whiff of greenery from the magnolia tree planted right outside. They combined to create something that was synonymous with New York in Steve’s mind. Something that was synonymous to home. Something that made him happy.

Steve turned onto his side before shifting a little moving around and getting comfortable. What did Sam say? “Home is what makes you happy.” It does make him happy, he realizes. His routine, his friends, his apartment, New York. And Bucky.

It’s a good night to be happy.

******

The next morning, Steve’s ringtone goes off with the lovely sound of a duck quacking in his ear.

At 5 am.

He already doesn’t stand a chance.

He swings his arms over to the general vicinity of where his phone is, grabs it, and picks up.

“Hello?” He groans out, sleep still clearly evident in his tone.

“Steve.”

“Nat? I didn’t miss our Saturday brunch, did I?”

Nat sounded exasperated, but also… on edge? “Steve, have you seen the news?”

“You woke me up. What’s going on, has nuclear war started?”

He can almost see the look on Natasha’s face. She sounds like she did when they all thought Clint had died, that one time back in Johannesburg. “Google yourself, Steve. I don’t even know how to phrase this.”

Steve rolls over, blinking the remnants of sleep out of his eyes and trying to remember what his phone’s passcode was. He types “Captain America” into the search bar, his stomach plummeting as he tries to figure out what this could be.

He hasn’t made any PR mistakes recently, hasn’t been on any newsworthy missions. Maybe they’d dug up some random fact about him, or found an old peer from his Brooklyn days?

The page loads, and it’s worse.

It’s so much worse.

“Cap’s Got a New Boy Toy - And He’s Hot!” reads the first headline.

“Captain America’s Bold New Move on the Dating Front” reads the second.

The third one cuts right to the chase. “Is Captain America Gay? Here’s The Evidence, Along With New Pictures of a Mystery Man.”

“Nat.” Steve chokes out. He can feel his throat constricting, his heart pounding, and for a dizzying second he thinks that the serum’s worn off, that he’ll revert back to his asthma stricken self.

“Steve.” God, it’s Nat’s disaster voice, the one she uses for deaths. _It’s not that serious_ , he wants to say, _it’s not that bad_.

But he can’t. Because he knows how bad it can get.

“Steve. Steve, are you hearing me? Do you still have his number?”

Steve nods before realizing she can’t see him. “Yeah.”

“Call him. Explain to him what happened before he finds out from a damn tabloid cover.”

“On it.”

******

Steve waits a couple hours. He doesn’t want to wake Bucky up with the news, doesn’t want it to be the first thing he hears. He makes himself a cup of coffee and situates himself on the couch, intermittently channel-surfing and browsing through Tumblr. It feels like he’s waiting for something disastrous to, like he’s waiting for a bomb to shift his life off of its foundation and it’s only a matter of time.

******

Bucky had been having a pretty good morning. His evening with Steve was fresh in his mind, and gave everything a hazy glow. He managed to only hit snooze once, shower and shave, and he’s getting ready to go to the store and check inventory when Steve texts.

_From Steve:_

Can I call you now? I need to talk to you about something.

Stomach churning, Bucky sits on his bed, phone in hand. _Come on, it’s probably nothing. You know how this works, something snarky._

_To Steve:_

U txt wierd

Like my gramps

Whos 90

And blind

Yeah, u can call

_From Steve:_

Says the guy who capitalizes his first word.

_To Steve:_

Screw u, apple does that 4 u

*aggressively pouts*

Bucky’s phone starts ringing. A picture of a golden retriever wearing a birthday hat that he found on the internet pops. His heart starts pounding again.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey, Buck”

A moment of awkward silence follows.

“You said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Another awkward pause.

“Hello? Steve, you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Just… trying to figure out how to phrase this.”

“Ok. You’re freaking me out here. Give it to me straight, whatever it is, I can probably handle it.” He can hear a deep breath being taken through the phone. And then:

“Bucksomeonegotpictures.”

“What?”

Another deep breath.

“Buck, someone got pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Of… us. Together. Last night. They’re basically everywhere.”

“And?”

“I’m so sorry, it never should have happened, I don’t even know how they got those shots, the world’s gonna know-”

“Steve.”

Bucky Barnes is a lot of bad things. He’s obnoxious, and lazy, and give too many fucks. He likes looking threatening way too much, and one day, the amount of random strangers he gives his number to will catch up him and he’ll be murdered.  

But no one has ever accused him of not being able to roll with the punches.

And goddammit, no one will ever accuse him of being a bad boyfriend.

“Steve, I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. But I can see that you do.”

Steve hums noncommittally, and that’s not a no, so Bucky ventures out a little further.

“Do you wanna talk?”

A moment of silence stretches on for so long that Bucky starts to think he’s been hung up on.

Then:

“Kinda, yeah. Can you come over?”

Bucky exhales. Fuck the inventory, this is something actually important.

“I can be there in ten.”

He grabs his bag, realizes that his shoes are untied, ties them, double checks that he’s got his keys, and leaves.

******

Steve’s a master class procrastinator when he puts his mind to it. He already asked Bucky if he wanted coffee twice, offered him a proper breakfast, put tea on, and suggested they watch Netflix together.

Bucky’s not buying it.

He accepted both the tea and the breakfast, but everytime Steve tries to change the subject, he gently, firmly, gets both of them back on track. Eventually, Steve cracks.

“When I grew up, I couldn’t be queer. Not at all. I was out to my ma, and I was out to the drag queens at the bars, but that was it. And I know times have changed. I know things are different now. I know I’d be an inspiration to some little white American Republican, but I can’t do it. I can’t. And now-” Steve turns to face the counter. A guy’s got limits, for Christ’s sake. “I wasn’t my choice.”

“Do you want to come out?”

“What?” Steve turns back around, facing Bucky, who seems to be completely serious. “Do I want to come out? Of course I want to come out. I’ve been wanting to come out ever since I was fourteen.”

“So,” Bucky says, doing something with his eyebrows that Steve has figured out to mean either “I’m charming the pants off of you right now”, or “Let’s go fuck the Man.”

“Why don’t you?”

*****

The press conference was entirely Bucky, with a little help from Pepper and enthusiastic support from Clint. Natasha got some of her scary Russian friends to act as plainclothes bouncers, making sure nothing escalated.

And Steve.

Steve came out to a crowd full reporters in a three-piece navy suit, pants perfectly creased and pocket square perfectly pressed. He was the model of elegance and honor, telling a story about how he’d never accepted the queer part of himself, and how it was a privilege to be able to come out and use this opportunity for good. The reporters ate it up. Steve must have made the cover of  every publication from New York to L.A.

He declined to give interviews individually. “Too nosy for me.” was his excuse. “I’ve already told you everything I have to say.”

He only gave one interview - to an indie zine that depended entirely on GoFundMe contributions. It was run by two trans men, lovers, who were basically making the magazine out of their basement. According to Steve, “I just couldn’t pass up the offer.”

It was an interview with a large, glossy, photograph taking residence on every other page. They’d gotten a professional photographer friend of theirs, an elderly bi women who was sharp and strict, but her photographs were decidedly not. After the issue came out, Bucky bought twenty copies, so he’d have backups if any of them got ruined. Steve thought it was overkill (Buck, they gave me a lifetime supply, we’re not going to run out), but Steve also thought that suspenders were still in style, so what did he know.

The photographs were of Steve looking soft and ethereal. Bucky’s favorite was one of Steve, surrounded by a soft glow, laying against a background of giant roses.  

They were happy together.

Things were pretty okay.

And they’d only get better.

 


End file.
